


i knew even then (i'd find you again)

by peterparks



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, I cri evrytiem, a lil bit of movie verse a lil bit of musical verse, i love dmitry sudayev fyi, i'm still salty that they did their relationship dirty in the musical tbh, in a crowd of thousands is my fave song from the musical it's just, kinda sorta a look into anya's mind when she goes after dmitry, movie verse appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparks/pseuds/peterparks
Summary: "hewas just as much apart of that definition of family that she’d dreamed for.home, love, family.could it be that she’d found it before even reaching paris? could it be that her future was locked inside a lonely boy from petersburg?"a look into anya's thoughts when she decides to give up her inheritance for dmitry.





	i knew even then (i'd find you again)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Things I Should Have Remembered (or Four Things No One Tells You About Being a Grand Duchess)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237567) by [SomewhereBeyondReality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereBeyondReality/pseuds/SomewhereBeyondReality). 
  * Inspired by [In a Crowd of Thousands (Or: In Which Our Intrepid Heroine Finally Gets a Clue)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046855) by [thewhiskerydragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiskerydragon/pseuds/thewhiskerydragon). 



> this is mostly musical-verse, but their dynamic & personality is much more insp by movie-verse. also i like to imagine the character descriptions being like irl versions of their movie characters so like,,, i picture anya w red hair even tho i never state it.

Anastasia Nikolaevna was the heir to the Romanov fortune. Born into a world of glittering jewels and fine titles that could, once upon a time, move mountains at a mere word. But people change, and ten years is a long time. Despite the face value and birthright of the Grand Duchess still remaining intact, it felt to Anya that Anastasia really had died long ago. She was a different person now, and her grandmother felt worlds away. She’d been hardened by life and beaten by the streets to a level of which she just simply _couldn’t_ stay anymore. Her place was not in a palace, with people who couldn’t relate to her. The people were simply the tops of heads. A bow without a face.

 

And then there was Dmitry. _He_ understood her. _He’d_ seen everything, just as she had. Every flavour, good _and_ bad, that the world had to offer. And, even though he was perfectly stubborn and annoying and _all men are babies_ , the last few days had felt empty without him. Everyone agreed with her, everyone just accepted what she said as _fact_ . She could blatantly say that the sky was red and that pasta was a vegetable and people would just _accept it_ . But Dmitry… Anya couldn’t even explain it if you’d asked. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before. Cocky and blatant and sarcastic and clever and _wonderful_ in his own way. The way his brown hair centre parted into short curtains framing his face drove her wild in a way that she would never, _ever_ dare admit out loud.

 

At what point was he so important to her? At what point did she realise that nothing else mattered as long as she had him? She’d found her family–her grandmother and Lily… but was that family truly complete without those she’d loved along the way? Vlad, who was funny and nurturing, he had the presence of an eccentric uncle. And _him_ . _He_ was just as much apart of that definition of family that she’d dreamed for. _Home, Love, Family_. Could it be that she’d found it before even reaching Paris? Could it be that her future was locked inside a lonely boy from Petersburg?

 

So she grabbed her cloak. She dressed down. Scrubbed clean every trace of the person that she’d been dressed up to be and suddenly she was on the platform at Gare Montparnasse. Thousands of people were walking along the station, going their individuals paths. It was times like these where her height was at a disadvantage. She waded through the people and stands on a bench to gain a few extra inches of leverage. It’s like a sixth sense–she was sure she could find him anywhere. That she’d _know_ him anywhere. Even among the crowd of thousands of brown haired men and women. It’s in a far corner that she sees him. He’s in line, so obviously waiting to purchase a ticket to leave. To go _where_ ? _Russia_ ? _Germany_ ? She quickly moves towards him, never losing sight. She _wouldn’t_ lose him in the crowd. He’s not allowed to get away so easily. _Never again_.

 

He’s just metres away, and he catches sight of her. He’s surprised–exasperated?–to see her. His words come out lethargic, almost remorseful. “If you see me from a carriage again, don’t wave, don’t smile–” he trails off for a moment, before adding an additional sentiment. “I don’t want to be in-love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life.”

 

 _In-love. He said in-love._ Anya’s pulse quickens at this. Her heart’s beating fast in a way that she had grown used to when around him. _He’s in-love with me._

He winces slightly, as if he’s just realised what he said. As if he hadn’t thought. As if his words betrayed him. “ _Goodbye, your majesty_.” He bows. How funny, the way things turn out. Here he is, eighteen years older, but still bowing among a crowd.

 

 _“Bowing is a sign of respect_ ” Vlad had said.

 

But then he’s walking away, and _no–_ things were _not_ supposed to turn out this way! She’s _not_ supposed to let him just walk away like that!

 

“ _I always dreamed my first kiss would be in Paris with a handsome prince._ ”

 

These words strike a chord with him, if only for a moment. He protests. He’s defiant–as always. But not in the way he usually was. Normally, he argued for fun. For games. But his words were lifeless–he _genuinely_ believed that he wasn’t deserving of her. And she would _not_ have that. She barely thinks. She teases him as she always has, trying to remind him, _to let him know_ , that _nothing_ has changed. “The Grand Duchess Anastasia would beg to disagree, _Dima_.”

  
She takes his suitcase from his hands. He’s confused, partially dazed, and tired. Tired of arguing, tired of caring, and so he lets her. She places it on the floor by his feet and uses it as a rise to stand. She takes his face in her hands, and brings her lips slowly to meet his. It’s sweet. Almost trepid. Dmitry’s shoulders stiffen for a moment, before suddenly his hands are on her waist, and he _finally_ understands. He finally _accepts_. He understands that their fates have been sealed from the moment they first saw each other, when she was eight and he was ten. He accepts that she’s his, and he is hers, and that no matter what, they would find each other again.

**Author's Note:**

> pls comment. also if u like anastasia follow my anastasia fan acc on ig @dimosanya


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